


The Trap (Or the One with a Lot of Pining)

by Detochkina



Series: Mr & Mr Smith [4]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dirty Talk, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mystery, Pining, Romance, Spies & Secret Agents, Technology, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 22:20:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3504845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Detochkina/pseuds/Detochkina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>When Merlin Emrys, an agent of the Agency of Magic, has a shotgun wedding in Vegas while on a mission to retrieve a powerful artifact, he doesn't know that his "other half" is a Pendragon and an officer of the competing organization, the Bureau of Corrections. That's right -- they're rivals who have chased each other all over the world for months. Imagine the odds.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>As their professional lives clash and Merlin learns the truth about Arthur, angst ensues.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Add to that an ongoing issue with the artifact they're both after, a piece of which is still at large. The mystery surrounding the artifact leads to more adventure and more trouble, all mixed with loads of pining and UST. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Trap (Or the One with a Lot of Pining)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Candymacaron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candymacaron/gifts).



> This is Part 4 of the series.  
> It's highly advised that you read the ["The Bet"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2978594), ["The Serum"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3108422) and "The Spell" of this series if you'd like to keep up with what's going on. Otherwise, enjoy the ride and boys being pining idiots.  
> As always, huge love and thanks to my amazing [Candymacaron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candymacaron/works) for the [brilliant art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2902664) for this story. I treasure you and your talent!  
> Please make sure to leave Candy well-deserved love; more is being added as the story progresses, and each piece is divine!  
> My betas [Daroh](http://archiveofourown.org/users/daroh/pseuds/daroh/works) and [M](https://twitter.com/EditsandSnark), thank you, my darlings, for your long hours, support and patience. You're incredible!  
> If something doesn't add up, drop me a line, I'll explain or fix it (shit happens). Thank you for reading!  
>  **Disclaimer:** No infringement intended. The characters are not mine.

 

 

"So, E, tell me," Merlin says two days after they arrive in Bruges. Since then, Merlin has slept a lot, messaged with Gaius and Mordred, done some research, overall not being extremely productive. He hasn’t been outside yet. "Why are we really here? Why this location?"

Elena smiles, glancing at him and going back to her laptop. "Why do you think there's a reason?"

"If I’ve learned anything over the years working with you, it's the fact that Gwaine and I only think I'm making all the decisions."

Elena straightens up, trying to fix her face into a serious expression, unsuccessfully. "I'm going to pretend that wasn't the best compliment I've ever received from you."

"But he still has to say 'please' and 'thank you'!" Gwaine yells from another room.

"Gwaine, we're trying to have a professional conversation here. Go back to your game and blogging," Merlin says.

"Daisy, you suck!" is Gwaine's brilliant, mature response. Elena giggles. Like that's new.

Any other time, Merlin's sure Gwaine would definitely elaborate on that statement, and complete it with a salacious joke. Thankfully, as thick-skinned as Gwaine is, even he senses that Merlin is not in the right place mentally right now to appreciate it. It's not Gwaine's fault that Merlin is tired and his magic is acting out. (Merlin's magic is a whole different issue, which he refuses to discuss with anyone, except his trusted mentor Gaius. He'll figure it out; he just needs time.)

"So, what is it here that you're tracking?" Merlin turns back to Elena. "What have you found?"

Elena looks at Merlin with amused appreciation. "This is why I don't ever want to work with anyone else," she says.

Merlin opens his mouth to respond, but she doesn't let him.

"I mean it, Merlin, I don't know what you’re figuring out in your head, and how this situation is going to resolve. But I want you to know, we’ll follow you regardless of what you decide. I know Gwaine feels the same way."

"Not without a substantial raise," Gwaine pipes up again.

"Gwaine!" Elena groans.

"It doesn't hurt to ask," Gwaine responds, and she rolls her eyes.

"I'm sorry, M, he's just bored."

"I don't know what I'm going to do yet," Merlin admits. "I don't even know if Morgana would want me back at the Agency after all this mess."

"No matter the issues she has with the Bureau, they aren’t new," Elena says. "And so far, she's been managing them. As for Arthur and Morgana--" Merlin clenches his jaw, which Elena notices, but she continues anyway, "It’s obvious they’ve reached some truce and there isn't any animosity between them. You saw them at the dinner party acting like all siblings do. She didn't know the whole truth about you two, Merlin. No matter what you think."

"You don't know what I think," Merlin says through his teeth.

"You're not that subtle," Elena retorts. "I'm not going to patronise you, so I'll say one thing only: that man, regardless of his last name, cared about you a lot."

"Elena," Merlin warns.

She sighs. "Fine. Just remember what I told you before -- we're not going anywhere. Anything you need, Merlin, you've got it."

Merlin doesn't say anything. His mobile chimes with a message -- from Gwaine:

_Say thank u. u tit._

He looks up at Elena.

She smiles knowingly. "You're welcome."

"So, what have you found?" he asks with a nod.

Elena’s face lights up. "I've been tracking some feeds and talking to Mordred. He's pointed out something curious."

Merlin sits down. "I'm listening."

“You know how the Triskelion is supposed to be some sort of a key, but no one knows to what exactly?"

Merlin nods. “There’s barely any information about the artifact.”

“Well, Mordred believes that the Triskelion itself carries all the necessary information.”

Merlin taps his fingers on the table. “Is he talking about the message carved on it?”

Elena points at Merlin, looking satisfied. “You got it. The message.”

Merlin says, “But the only piece we have doesn’t shed any light, since it’s only one-third of the artifact, and Mordred's picture was too blurry. Any news from Morgana about the Bureau turning over the second piece to us?”

Elena shakes her head. “No. Currently, she’s in a different kind of negotiation, and it's for your own sake.”

Merlin makes an unhappy face. “I wasn’t the one creating the whole situation.”

“Well,” Elena says. “I don’t think you’re being fair to her. You hid your relationship with her brother, who on top of everything else, works for the Bureau.”

“I didn’t know any of that!” Merlin cries out. "And I could turn it around and say the same thing about her."

Elena sighs. “Look, you said it yourself -- that's her private matter and it doesn't concern us."

"What about my private matters?"

"I don’t see her at your doorstep, blaming you for doing what you did.”

“So you say. Maybe that’s why we’re hiding.”

“This is not hiding. This is a temporary strategic relocation,” Elena states. “Merlin, I meant to tell you something else. Something else about Arthur... I know, I know--” she starts talking faster. “You need time to deal and heal, but I really don’t want to keep this particular information to myself. I don’t think you’d appreciate it.”

Merlin shifts to the edge of his chair. “What information?”

“I hope you don’t mind, but I had to run his blood against the bit you found the time when you failed to recover the Necromancy coin, remember? I just wanted to confirm there’s no one else."

Merlin laughs bitterly. “Ah, yes, at the grotto. His alleged unfortunate rock-climbing incident that cost him a scar on his knee. Of course it was a match, E. I didn’t have _two_ rivals. So, yeah, I already know.”

“I see... Well, I’m glad I’m not the bearer of bad news.”

Merlin makes a small huffing noise. “No, bad news tends to follow me on its own.”

The only thing Merlin has kept from that awful night is the coin stained with Arthur’s blood. He took it with him when he left Arthur’s house. He had to take it, as it serves probably as the most important reminder that lies and playing games eventually cost lives. It’s lucky that he was in the right place at the right time to prevent something truly catastrophic. Then, of course, Merlin remembers Morgana. No, it wasn’t luck; it was her, orchestrating the set of events, and he’s still extremely bitter about that. She could’ve told him the truth at the start; he’d never have refused to help her brother if she had just asked him.

“I’m sorry, Merlin,” Elena interrupts his acerbic thoughts.

“Right.” Merlin shifts again. “But we seem to keep veering off course. What’s that curious thing you and Mordred have discovered?”

“Ah, yes.” Elena types something on her laptop. “The Triskelion message.”

"Yes?"

“We found something that we believe could possibly be a transcript, describing all of the inscriptions on the Triskelion. Mordred spoke with Gaius and they both insist that it will point us to what the key is designed to open.”

“What? Where?” Merlin leans forward.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist. For now, this is just a hunch on my part and Mordred is being his usual exultant self whenever it comes to a potential discovery, but--” She turns one of her monitors to face Merlin and shows him the screen. “Here. See this? The description of the particular item says, ‘Indelen van der Triskele’.”

“Which means…”

“Classification or draft of the Triskelion. At least that’s what we think it means.”

“All right,” Merlin says, rubbing his cheek in thought next to a fresh scar he’s not planning to remove. “Is there a picture attached to the draft? Can I see it?”

“There’s no picture. But, there’s going to be an auction in Brussels next month and the transcript in question will be offered for bidding.”

"What about the third piece?"

"It's not mentioned."

“Do we have any word on Borden? How did he find the first piece?”

“The man is nowhere to be found.”

“I see. We’ll go to the auction, then,” Merlin says, not happy about waiting another month for more movement on the project.

“We can’t,” Elena says. “We don’t have the kind of money to bid at the auction. _The Agency_ doesn’t have that kind of money. The estimated prices at this auction are beyond our means.”

“Why don’t we just confiscate the item?”

Elena looks at him with a reprimand in the firm line of her mouth. “On what grounds? No laws are being broken. It’s not an artifact per se. There’s no threat to anyone, and technically, it has no magic, so we can’t claim it.”

Merlin scratches his brow. “What, then? What can we do?”

Elena gives him a small smile. “I might have a solution, and this is where you step in. There will be a fairly large pre-auction event, held here in Bruges in two weeks, they are listing the transcript among other items.”

Merlin takes a shuddering breath, hoping they’re finally back on the right path with their search. “Okay, great. I'll go.”

“However,” Elena says, raising her finger. “The said pre-auction is a private event by invitation only.”

“Like that ever stopped us.”

“Yes. I’ll get you an invitation. The challenging part is, I doubt they’d reveal the entire text of the transcript until it’s purchased. They'll probably display it in some limited fashion, but you won't be able to touch the artifact.”

“That’s all right, I can take an imprint of the item using magic,” Merlin says.

“You can't be caught.”

“No one would know.”

“Merlin, I need you to take a moment and think about this. Please. You don’t seem to be grasping the situation, and it’s not like you at all,” Elena says, setting the reproaching gaze of her clear-blue eyes on Merlin. "You understand that if the transcript is being treated as a big-ticket item, they know about magic and they'll be ready for someone like you. They’ll be on a look-out, and if something happens, you won't have full Agency's protection like you do in active duty. Our usual support means for you have also been limited. We are all you’ve got. I have no idea what to expect there, Merlin. You can’t make mistakes."

“There’s no one better than me with security and magic,” Merlin insists with a stubborn air. "I'll manage."

"There's definitely someone better than you," Gwaine says.

"What are you talking about?"

“Did the lesson with Arthur teach you anything at all?” Gwaine asks. “Sorry, mate, but you _can_ be beat. And how do you know he won’t be there?”

“Representing who?” Merlin snaps.

“What’s the difference? Not us, and that’s all that matters.”

But it matters. It very much matters to Merlin, regardless of what he tells himself. Arthur wasn’t under the Bureau's protection when he came to the Geffrye Museum and was shot at, just like Merlin. He didn’t go there to serve someone’s particular need or agenda. If he wasn’t lying, of course. Merlin wants to believe that Arthur is nothing but a liar, but he can’t, and his magic starts prickling almost painfully inside him, rebelling against the idea.

“I’ll be careful,” he says quietly. “I’ll go prepared.” He chews on his lip. “Do we know where the items for the auction are being kept? Maybe I could find my way into the safe before the event?”

Elena shakes her head. “No idea. To be honest, I’m torn. As a magic user, you might not be welcome there, but this is an opportunity we just can’t miss. If we could have you somehow pass as a regular bloke simply interested in the historical artifacts, I’d say go to the event. This could be your chance to find out if there’s someone else interested in the transcript and why. If my Da taught me anything at all, it’s if you have a chance to size up your competition, do it in person. And you know, there are still plenty of true-hearted lovers of art and history. Some may be helpful to us in the future. Mingling is good, Merlin.”

Merlin cringes at the idea of schmoosing people. “You sound like your father and Gaius combined, which is kind of disturbing.”

“I’d listen to her,” Gwaine says. “As a bloke who doesn’t have magic, I can tell you that this is what we rely on -- trustworthy friends and connections. You already lucked out with us. Now you need connections.”

Merlin snorts. “Right. Okay. E, get me the details about the event. Gwaine, I’ll need the location’s floor plans and anything you can find out about their security, just in case. And I’ll start working on a little device that will shield my magic while I’m there, since you want me to pass as a regular bloke.”

“You can do that?” Gwaine asks, incredulous.

After Merlin's just been challenged? Of course he can.

“Sure," he says, shrugging. "Just as I can enhance any security system with magic, I can turn it around and find a way to hide it. I’ll figure it out.” He's also looking forward to having something to keep him occupied. Him and his restless magic.

 

~BRG~

 

Of course, Elena and Gwaine manage to annoy Merlin to death after spending a week together, cooped up in a small flat. Elena is first to complain about Gwaine’s laugh being too loud, about the apple cores he leaves all over the flat, and his always forgetting to put the milk back in the refrigerator. It doesn't stop them from snogging at every chance.

More than once, Merlin catches himself thinking that although he and Arthur constantly bantered with each other, they never bickered. Maybe it was because they never spent more than a few days together before rushing to yet another mission, or maybe Arthur just didn’t care about things like that, or maybe because their relationship was never real. This is where these kind of thoughts usually come to a complete halt, and Merlin starts daydreaming about things that were real. Their late-night dinners after a long day, their morning runs and yoga sessions, Arthur’s sexting, _Baby, I’ll be late, but do wait for me and wear that little red thing. You’ll find it in the bottom drawer of the dresser. You know what I’m talking about. Yes, I kept it. A._

Their brilliant sex.

And Arthur’s broken whisper at the very end, when Merlin was leaving, “I had to follow you. I’ll never regret it.” 

Merlin believed him, but what is he supposed to do with that now?

Merlin takes to walking around the two-millennia-old town. Early mornings, he people-watches at the fish market, or the food market in front of the Belfort. Once, he braves a visit to the Belfort tower, conquering the grueling 366-step climb of the narrow, steep staircase to the very top. One evening, tired of Gwaine’s whining, he goes with him to the famous Bruges’ hole-in-a-wall pub called “De Garre”. The beer is fine. The atmosphere is friendly. Even Gwaine with his white-foam mustache is tolerable, mostly because Merlin orders two pints for himself and makes it his mission to tune out the chatter and let himself half-drunkenly float in and out of it.

At all other times, Merlin stays locked in his room and works on the shielding device, assembling something he’s never done before -- an artifact in the form of a wristwatch to have his magic shielded down so it can't be detected from the outside. It goes on like this for another week, until he receives the call. 

“Hello, Morgana,” Merlin says, knowing who’s on the other end of the phone.

“Hello, Emrys. Or should I call you by some other name now? I’ve been confused lately,” Morgana says, setting the tone, indicating the conversation is going to be far from pleasant.

“Call me Wizard,” Merlin says, his tone no less dry and combative. “How may I help?”

“Let’s see.” Morgana pauses dramatically. “Yes, I’d like to know why my brother came to me demanding to lift a love spell.”

Merlin chokes. “What?”

“Apparently, he thinks he’s been enchanted.”

“What does that have to do with me?” he asks, his heart crumbling. “I haven’t seen your brother in over two weeks.”

"And that's the problem."

Merlin sighs. “What do you want from me? I didn’t enchant your brother, and what happened in Vegas stayed in Vegas, if you will. You must already know the story. If Borden did the same thing to him as he did to me, it didn’t last for more than half a day. So it must be someone recent he hooked up with.”

Morgana tsks. “See, Merlin, here’s the interesting part. Arthur doesn’t know that the serum lasted only several hours. He thinks he’s still under its effect.”

“Did you tell him he has nothing to worry about, then?” Merlin asks, too rattled to keep his tone neutral.

“You still don’t get it, do you?” Morgana asks. “How foolish can the two of you be?”

“What are you talking about?”

She raises her voice. “Do I have to send it to you in writing?”

“Bloody hell, Morgana, send what?” Merlin yells, forgetting he’s talking to his boss. “What?”

“My brother is bloody in love with you and it has nothing to do with any enchantments!” Morgana hisses into his ear. “He misses you, do you understand? He’s falling apart and he came to _me_ for a cure, that’s how desperate he is.”

Merlin loses his ability to talk.

“Merlin, do you hear me? What happened between you two? I thought you’d talk it out.”

He starts laughing. “Talk what out? The fact that, according to him, we’re from two different worlds? Or the fact that he hates magic?”

Morgana mutters something under her breath. “Arthur doesn’t hate magic. He’s been raised to be afraid of it. Uther did that to him, telling him his entire life that his mother had died because of a spell. _Uther_ hates magic.”

“And what am I supposed to do? I can’t stand between Arthur and his father. I won’t. He’s made his choice.”

“Merlin, you need to know something important,” Morgana says after a pause.

“Oh, here we go, more revelations. If only you knew how sick I am of those. Especially from you,” Merlin says, rubbing his face. “What now?”

“You need to know that you and Arthur are destined to be together.”

“Yes, I believe Arthur warned me that you were going to speak of such nonsense,” Merlin says, feeling very tired. “Look, I’m guessing you mean well, but this won’t work. I support Arthur in this particular case. There’s no destiny. We did a foolish thing a few months ago and it went a little too far, so of course it didn’t work out. I’m sure as soon as you tell him there's no enchantment and it’s all in his head, he’ll be fine and will go on his merry way.”

“Do you even believe that yourself?” Morgana asks, suddenly sounding dull.

“It doesn’t matter what I believe. I’m done discussing my personal life with you. Arthur probably wouldn’t appreciate that you called me, either. He and I have an agreement. Leave it alone.”

“I’ve seen things, Merlin.”

“Jesus Christ, Morgana.” Merlin feels like he’s reached his limit. Weeks of holding it all in and trying to go on like the best summer of his life never happened, like he’s not getting more and more hollow inside and not losing touch with his magic, have finally caught up with him. He can’t stop the words that start spilling out of his mouth. “It fucking hurts! Do you understand? It hurts to talk about him. I can’t. I won’t. And unless you called me about something work-related, I’d like to be done with this conversation.”

“It’s all related. You and Arthur, the magic between you. I know you haven't been yourself lately. Your magic is incomplete without him. You feel it.”

"No,” Merlin denies. “All I feel is you being a great pain on my arse.”

“Well, get over it and listen to what I’m telling you. You and Arthur are connected, and the Triskelion plays a part. It's the only explanation.”

“The Triskelion?” Merlin’s perplexed by the turn of the conversation. “Where is that coming from?”

"Like I said, I've _seen_ things."

"What things?" Merlin demands, not amused by Morgana's vague responses.

Morgana doesn't answer.

Merlin’s seriously considering hanging up, and if it weren’t for Morgana’s mentioning the Triskelion, he certainly would. “So, you’ve known something about the artifact all along. Something significant, but you never told me.”

“Not all along. It took me a while to connect certain pieces together, but once I did, I couldn't tell you.”

“Oh, you _couldn't_ ,” Merlin mocks. “What kind of a boss are you?”

“The best you’ll ever have. And by the way, I’m doing you a great favour right now as your unofficial sister-in-law. Gay marriage is not recognised in Nevada, but I’m sure you already knew that.”

“Of course I knew,” Merlin mumbles. He did; it just never mattered, as long as Arthur wanted to be with him.

“That part is fixable -- the marriage thing, I mean. But you need Arthur if you ever plan to use the Triskelion.”

“Use it? Use it for what?”

“I don’t know that, Merlin. That’s for you to figure out.”

“Brilliant. Did you forget that we only have one piece?”

“Two, if you count the one at the Bureau. And no, I didn’t forget. I’m not worried about that. I’m worried about you and my idiot brother.”

Merlin doesn’t say anything.

“I have nothing to tell him, Merlin,” Morgana says, making an exacerbated noise. “He’s desperate to be rid of something no one can help him with. I’m worried that in the process, he’ll only hurt himself more -- and, of course, you.”

“What do you want me to do?” Merlin asks, chest aching.

“Call him, talk to him. Tell him the truth.”

“What truth would that be?”

“Tell him what you and I both already know. Stop torturing each other.”

“And the Triskelion?”

“You’re on the right track. Keep searching for it. As for me -- I’ve done all I can at this point. The rest you must figure out yourself. You and Arthur together. Don’t let your magic go to waste, Emrys.”

Merlin stares dumbly at the mostly-assembled device he’s working on, not seeing it. “When can we go home?” he asks.

“Any time you want. This is another reason I called. I wanted to let you know personally that the Museum matter has been resolved.”

“Resolved how?” Merlin asks. “Did you have to give up yet another ‘know-how’ of mine to shut the Bureau up?”

“I’ve never done such a thing, and you know it,” Morgana says sharply. “Two other parties involved in the incident at the museum agreed to close the case.”

“Why?”

“Because neither of them had any business being there. They were trespassing and got caught. Not only that, MI6 had admitted using poisoned bullets. Apparently, someone suggested that it was the only way to bring down a sorcerer.”

“So they aimed at me, not Arthur?”

“At that point, I don’t think they cared." Morgana pauses. "Merlin, I wanted to say... Thank you." Her tone softens.  "For saving my brother.”

“Yes, well…” Merlin sighs. “I wish you didn’t use me the way you did. Why didn’t you just tell me you needed help?”

Morgana snorts. “You’re still convinced I set you and Arthur up, aren’t you?”

“As if you didn’t.”

“Of course not. Not really. Arthur doesn’t consult with me about his love life or his job. Ever. But of course I knew he worked at the Bureau. And as things were, considering Arthur’s background, I didn't discard the possibility that he was the one responsible for your constant heartburn. Because Arthur as a finance guy?” Morgana scoffs. “My arse.”

Before Merlin can ask her to clarify what she means by “considering Arthur’s background”, she adds, “And you _,_ Merlin _,_ were hiding something from me once you came back from Vegas, while looking like the cat that ate the canary. Meanwhile, my brother began showing signs of doubting the Bureau's actions all of a sudden by asking me of all people about magic and benefits of magic artifacts. So... I suspected. I hoped _._ And when my brother said he wanted to introduce someone to me. Someone by the name of Merlin… It clicked.”

"What clicked?"

"Why I saw what I saw."

"What did you see?" Merlin insists.

Morgana stays quiet for so long, Merlin thinks the call has dropped.

"Morgana?"

"I'm here," she says. "Fine. I'll indulge you... The thing is, since I was a kid, I had visions of my brother dying." Morgana's voice breaks a little, and maybe it’s wrong, but Merlin wants her to keep talking. He _needs_ to know. "As I grew older, the visions started to change and sometimes he was saved. By a sorcerer.”

“Who?” Merlin asks, frowning.

Morgana hums. “I never saw his face in my dreams, just a slim, tall figure.”

Merlin can’t help the tinge of sarcasm in his voice when he replies, “Well, that description helps. And you decided it had to be me?”

“Not immediately,” Morgana says. “No. I know I was taking a risk banking on you, when theoretically, you didn’t even know my brother. But believe me, I asked you to learn the spells not just because you had the most potential as a sorcerer and I felt like I could trust you with my brother’s life -- there was something else.”

“What else?”

“The Triskelion. Over time, the Triskelion sign has became a regular fixture in my visions, and whenever it made an appearance in my dream -- be it as a pattern on the lawn of Arthur’s house, or on a page of a book he was reading, or as a tattoo on the arm of the sorcerer saving him… Whenever I saw the Triskelion, at the end of that dream, the sorcerer would never fail and he'd save Arthur. And in the light of the recent events, it was a clue I couldn't ignore.”

As Merlin listens to all this, his mind sticks on one particular point. “I don’t have tattoos, and Arthur lives in a flat. What are you talking about?”

Morgana makes a noise like Merlin is daft. “You should never say never, should you, Emrys?”

“So what you are trying to say, Morgana,” Merlin says slowly, since he’s sure he’d never want a tattoo, and this whole conversation is borderline mental, “that you convinced yourself that _that_ sorcerer had to be me, although all you had to rely on was some faceless vision?”      

Morgana groans. "It _was_ you, all right? And today, we both know that I was right and you _are_ the one from my visions. You have saved my brother, haven’t you? Would you rather he died?"

"No. Never!" Merlin shudders at just the thought of it. "But you manipulated me!"

"At what point, Merlin? Tell me. Aside from my request for you to learn the spells?"

"You sent me to the Triskelion mission to Vegas," Merlin suggests.

"Yes, because you're my best agent."

"It was a calculated move."

"I won't deny that I hoped if the Bureau sent someone to the same place, it would be Arthur and that you'd meet, but what were the chances?"

"By then, very high, considering your variables," Merlin mutters.

"Maybe," Morgana agrees, "but what have I done to make you fall in love with my brother?"

Merlin struggles to come up with the appropriate answer.

Morgana speaks again after a pause,"You have nothing to say because having a relationship with him was your own choice. I had nothing to do with that. Deny all you want, but you’re linked together, and what happened was destined to happen."

“So, is it destiny, or is it a choice?” Merlin challenges her.

"One can choose his destiny."

"Morgana--"

“Merlin, listen,” Morgana interrupts, sounding like her attention is already somewhere else, “when you’re back in London, we can talk more if you want. But for now, I have to go. I have the Agency to run.”

“Right. That.” Merlin scratches his nose, feeling out of sorts as a result of this conversation. “We’re not going back to London just yet. We’re staying in Bruges to pursue some new information related to the Triskelion.”

Merlin can practically hear her smirking.

“Yes, of course, I already know, and I’m glad. Good luck to you, Wizard,” Morgana says, sounding warmer than she ever has.

“I don’t need luck,” Merlin mumbles.

“Call my brother, would you?” A smile in her voice. “Save us all some grief.”

“Morgana--” Merlin starts protesting.

Morgana hangs up.

 

~BRG~

Merlin absolutely refuses to wear a bloody tuxedo.

He’s resolved to put it in his will to bury him in a t-shirt that says: “This is what plan B looks like,” or something like that, because _honestly_ , Elena is sniffing something if she thinks he’ll be ever seen in a tux again.

“Merlin, everyone there is posh, so you must measure up.” Elena keeps being annoying.

Merlin’s resolve is unbendable. “No.”

“El, I think I should go instead,” Gwaine suggests. “I’m irresistible in a bowtie, wouldn’t you say?”

“She’d find you irresistible in a shopping bag and flip-flops, so your argument is invalid,” Merlin says.

“Well, at least he’s not being a stubborn arse,” Elena points out and sighs. “All right. A compromise. How about a dress shirt and dark trousers?”

“No tie,” Merlin negotiates.

“Fine, no tie,” Elena concedes. “But loafers.”

“After this, I swear to god, I’m transferring to--”

“Yes, yes, we already know," Gwaine says, waving Merlin's whining off. "You’re changing teams, and there’s something particularly alluring about Albania that you simply can’t wait to move there. Mate, could you please just relax, and -- what do you always say? -- just bloody do your job. It will be over before you know it.”

“Fine.” Merlin snatches the shirt from Elena’s hands. “I’ll measure up.”

“Yes, please do us this favour. And daisy, I’ve heard chamomile tea helps to settle the nerves, so please fucking try it.”

Merlin narrows his eyes at Gwaine.

“Ooookay. Break it up, boys,” Elena steps between them, spreading her arms to separate them. “I know it hasn’t been the easiest of the assignments.” She looks at Merlin. “I know you haven’t felt your best--”

“Nonsense. I feel smashing,” Merlin snaps. “Just keep your boyfriend in check and we’ll be fine.”

“Our relationship has nothing to do with this,” Elena says. “Stop being rude. We’re a team, remember?”

Merlin lowers his eyes. “Yes. So, where are my loafers?”

“Atta boy,” Gwaine says.

Elena cuffs the back of his head.

 

If Merlin was allowed a drink before an assignment, he’d definitely have one today. Alas, he’s been accused of turning into an airhead by his team and is already on the shitlist of pretty much every person he knows, so a shot of something strong and alcoholic is out of the question this evening. He’ll just have to rely on adrenalin and magic. Could be worse.

He arrives deliberately late, walking through a courtyard paved with grey stone, and into a beautiful, well-maintained mansion with small gothic windows, centuries old, that now serves as an art gallery and a museum. Of course, Elena was right: even in a perfectly-ironed shirt and tailored trousers he's underdressed, while the rest of the guests are impressively posh in their crisp suits and expensive watches (he wears a watch today, too, but it's hardly possible to put a price tag on his latest design). It surprises Merlin that there are barely any women among the guests -- Elena and Morgana would have a few words about that if they were here. Love for art and history knows no gender, race or age, yet only a certain, select few have been issued an invitation to appreciate it this evening. Not only that, Merlin wonders how much of what is going to be auctioned will ever be available for the public to learn about, instead of being locked in safes and bank vaults, away from curious minds.

This reminds Merlin of what Gaius had told him not long ago about magic and how they’re doing it a disservice by taking the artifacts out of people’s hands and locking them away instead of passing the knowledge on, which makes Merlin question how the Agency is different from all these men here.

With his magic harnessed down by the device clasped around his wrist, he feels a little disoriented at first and it takes getting used to as he begins a slow walk through the gallery. Good thing he's already familiar with the floor plan and aware of what to expect in terms of the permanent exhibits. The objects in the rooms are not organised according to any historical theme, but by the materials they were made of: stone, bone, metal, clay. Everything is labelled in the Flemish language and is absolutely void of magic, if he can trust his numbed senses.

The tight hold of the watchband feels more like an iron manacle, if Merlin is honest; maybe because iron is one of the elements he used for the device and it’s known to have a restraining effect on magic. Up until a few weeks ago, Merlin’s knowledge of iron's effect on magical properties was limited to books. Today, he’s testing it on himself, and while he’s glad his solution seems to be working, he can’t say he’s enjoying the result that much.

“M, status?” Elena’s voice comes up in his ear comm. His team is in their usual positions: Elena’s in front of her laptop and large-screen monitors, keeping her fingers on the pulse of the mission, while Gwaine’s circling outside, standing by, in case Merlin needs backup or help with a quick escape.

“I’m in,” Merlin murmurs, striking the pose of a thinker in front of a blue-and-white porcelain vase on display (which the attached brochure says is originally from China and priced around €900K). “It’s a well-attended event. A lot of people," he says, and he's dreading approaching any of them.

“Have you located the transcript?” Elena asks.

“Not yet,” Merlin says. “Just walked into the first display room with the pre-auction items. Currently looking at a flask that’s priced at nearly a million euros. It has zero magic from what I can tell.”

“Why are you so surprised? It’s early Ming period. People are willing to pay a lot for rare artifacts, magic or not.”

 _What kind of a price would they put on the Triskelion?_ Merlin wonders to himself. _Is it possible that someone here already knows what it’s worth?_

“Any familiar faces?” Elena asks, her voice tentative.

Who would he know here? With his magic-concealing device on, he's forgone his usual glamour tonight, assuming a fake identity instead. Which reminds him… Merlin flips the invitation Elena  shoved into his pocket at the last minute.

 _Pre-auction… Rare opportunity…_ Blah, blah, blah… _Gallery of Fine Arts..._

 _Dear_ _Mr Smith,_

_You’re cordially invited..._

Mr Smith? Merlin takes a sharp breath.

“E, I’m going to kill you,” he says, too loud for it not to attract attention.

Someone clears their throat behind his back. _Bugger_. Plastering a smile on his face, he slowly turns around. There’s a lady with red short hair and orange lipstick, probably in her late fifties, standing in front of him, and she’s also smiling, and her smile is no less fake. 

“Sir, may I help you with any questions?” she asks in a slight Flemish accent. “I’m one of the managers of the event. Would you like a tour around?”

Merlin doesn’t have any questions and he doesn’t need a bloody tour.

“Uh. No… Thank you,” he says, feeling a wave of his magic rushing to the tip of his fingers, completely unexpected, uncalled for. Luckily, the watch keeps it from sneaking under the shield. “I’m fine.”

The lady tilts her head, standing close enough for Merlin to note the grey roots of her hair, the pink powder of the makeup caked in the creases around her mouth and eyes, and beads of sweat on her upper lip.

She doesn’t back off, extending her hand to him. “May I see your invitation? I can help you with your assigned seat for the presentation.”

“Sure.” Merlin reaches into his pocket again.

“Ah, here you are!” Someone brushes their fingers over the back of Merlin’s collar, and Merlin’s magic goes wild under the shield. _Shite,_ he thinks, locking his jaw, trying to stay in control. “No worries, Mrs Niede," he hears, frozen to his spot. "This gentleman is with me. I’ll show him around.”

“Ah, hello, Mr Smith!” Mrs Neide sing-songs, but it’s not _Merlin_ she’s addressing. “So nice to see you again.”

Merlin makes a gargantuan effort to keep a formal expression while acting like he’s not shaken, and turns to come face to face with Arthur Pendragon.

“What did my husband do this time?” Arthur asks playfully and leans to kiss Merlin on the cheek, murmuring, “Hi, baby, sorry I’m late.”

Merlin forms the semblance of a pleasant (he hopes) smile and nods. Arthur looks great in a red tie and two-button grey suit. His clean-shaven face seems somewhat slimmer, paler, and the line of his jaw more prominent than Merlin remembers it, sharper. But his eyes, irises intense-blue, focused on Merlin, are disarmingly soft, warm.

“Husband?” Mrs Niede exclaims, snapping her head from Arthur to Merlin and back. She wags her finger. “Married so young! Oh well.” Smiling, she turns back to Merlin. “How lucky are you to have such a nice companion in life.”

“Oh, it’s me who’s lucky,” Arthur says, stepping to Merlin’s side and snaking his arm around his waist. He gives Merlin a smile, so timid and wistful, Merlin’s at a loss for words again.

“Well then, I think you’re in capable hands,” Mrs Niede says. “I’ll leave you two to browse without me, then, but don’t stray too far. The presentation will start soon.”

Merlin shakes Arthur’s arm off as soon as the lady turns around to leave.

“Merlin,” Arthur says, grabbing him by his sleeve. “Listen--”

“I don’t want to make a scene,” Merlin says, not looking at Arthur. He can’t. If he looks at him, his resolve will crumble, and he’ll remember that he doesn’t remember what he was resolved about.

“No scenes. Just… please,” Arthur says, tugging Merlin to follow him.

Merlin glances around. The crowd is shuffling about, people talking, laughing, shaking hands; no one’s paying them any mind. Except for Mrs Niede, who’s standing in the corner with her gaze sharp on them. Merlin smiles; she doesn’t smile back.

“Where are we going, Arthur?” he asks, walking behind his ex-lover. Saying his name brings the situation to Elena’s attention, who coughs but otherwise doesn’t make any comments. 

Arthur doesn’t answer, leading Merlin through the next room with a collection of what looks like ceramic urns, stopping him by the exit in front of one of the displays. Flicking his eyes to Merlin’s wrist, he says, “Nice watch.” In an unexpected move, he takes Merlin’s hand and twines their fingers together, holding Merlin in place.

His magic -- petulant, disloyal thing -- giddily skips beneath the shield, prickling under Merlin’s skin at the contact as if this is something it’s waited for, the feeling as pleasant as it is unwelcome. Still, he doesn’t pull his hand away, sensing he should wait with issuing judgement. Arthur steps very close, their shoulders touching, and tilts his head towards Merlin.

“You can’t stay here,” he whispers, not taking his eyes off the urn on the display before them.

“Excuse me?” Merlin says.

“You have to leave,” Arthur says, not raising his voice, but insistent.

Merlin snorts quietly. “Yeah, right. Any other requests?”

Arthur darts his eyes to him, a smile touching a corner of his mouth. “I have a few things in mind, but let’s save them for later.”

“You can’t be serious,” Merlin says. “What is this? Why are you here?”

Although, why is he even asking -- it’s obvious why. They’ve always been after the same things. Now it’s just out in the open. The game has changed.

Arthur takes a few steps, tugging Merlin with him until they face another display; Merlin has stopped paying attention to what it is they’re supposed to be looking at.

“I’m here to warn you,” Arthur says, his eyes cast down, lips barely moving. He points at the display case of something magic-less and therefore dreadfully boring, and says a bit louder, “This is fantastic!”

Merlin makes a clever face, lips pursed, and nods. “Never seen anything like it.” He carefully glances around, surveying the crowd and, not finding anyone paying them any mind, says, “Well, you’ve wasted your time. I’m not planning to take anything here. And I’m here by invitation.”

“Your invitation is fake.”

“The invitation is not fake. Elena obtained it through official sources.”

“Errr… actually,” Elena speaks up in Merlin’s ear. “I didn’t. Sorry. My father’s connections didn’t help.”

“Splendid,” Merlin mutters. “We’ll talk about this later,” he promises Elena grimly and looks at Arthur. “And how did you know where to find me? And about the invitation?”

“I swear I’ll explain, but not here,” Arthur pleads, the fingers of his free hand clenching and unclenching.

“Have my precious teammates been talking to you?” Merlin isn't hiding his irritation, his nostrils flaring.

“No. Morgana.”

“Oh, she trusts you that much now?”

Arthur smiles. “More like _I_ trust her.”

Merlin rubs his face. A moment later, he makes a decision. “That's all great, but I have unfinished business here.”

Arthur blows an exasperated breath out. “I knew you’d say that.”

“Yes, well… Glad I'm that predictable for you. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Merlin tries to free his hand, but Arthur seems determined to stay close and in contact, only squeezing his fingers around Merlin's tighter.

"Not unless you agree to leave."

"Sure, you first. I'll go in a minute," Merlin says smoothly.

"No, only with you," Arthur says.

Even if there’s some additional meaning behind those words, Merlin tries to ignore it. Petulantly, he picks up a flute of champagne from the tray carried by a passing waiter.

"Don't drink it," Arthur says when Merlin brings it to his lips.

Merlin pauses with the flute at his mouth, then lowers it. "All right. What's going on?"

Arthur half-turns, smiling charmingly, as if they're having a pleasant chat. "I know what you’re after. It's not here, Merlin. It’s a trap.”

Merlin laughs. "Right. A trap. You expect me to believe you? How’s your father, by the way?"

"Don't be an idiot," Elena hisses. "Listen to him."

"I didn't ask you," Merlin snaps at her. “I see now why you wanted me to _mingle_.”

"What?" Arthur says, frowning.

"Not talking to you," Merlin says.

"Well, you don't have to talk to me, but--" Elena starts.

"Oh my god." Merlin groans. "Could you please both shut up and let me think for a moment?"

Arthur nods. "Yes, but let's at least move..."

They shuffle, still holding hands, into another room. This time, it's all about relics made of metal: silver trays, kettles, weaponry. Merlin isn't moved by any of them.

“Talk,” he says through the thin line of his mouth. “What did Morgana tell you?”

“That I’d find you here.”

“Why?” Merlin asks.

Arthur looks around and then down before meeting Merlin’s eyes. “Can we please talk somewhere else?”

His gaze is so intense, Merlin can’t handle it for too long. He pulls his hand from Arthur's, using more force, and is finally released. “I want to know about the trap,” he insists, shifting his focus to a few pieces of a broken arrow on display behind the glass.

“I don’t believe the transcript exists. At least it's not going to be featured at this auction.”

Merlin snaps his head back to Arthur. “Impossible. I’ve seen it on the official website with my own eyes.“

“No, M, wait..." Elena says, deriving necessary information from the snippets she’s hearing from Merlin’s part of the conversation. He hears the usual sound of her keyboard clicking. "Crap. The auction website has been updated. The transcript listing is gone.”

Merlin processes the news. “They could’ve just removed it from the pre-auction list.”

“It’s not in the auction inventory list, either,” Arthur says.

“How do you know?”

This time, when Arthur steps to the next display, Merlin follows him on his own, and Arthur turns to him with a smile. Leaning closer, he brings his mouth to Merlin’s ear. “How do you think I was able to beat you over and over, Agent Emrys? You rely too much on your magic and your calculations. Famous as they are.”

Merlin doesn’t move, willing his body and his magic to behave with Arthur’s lips in such close proximity to his skin. It’s not working very well, a shiver running down his back. “What else do I need?” he asks, voice scratchy.

“People. Finding out what makes them tick. Making connections. The transcript's been removed from the bidding as it failed verification checks. No one has ever seen it, let alone proved its authenticity. And with the Triskelion itself being at large, the auction staff had no choice but reject the listing.”

"How did you find that out?" Merlin is still skeptical.

"I spoke with Mrs Niede this afternoon. Who did you speak with?" Arthur raises his brow.

“What have we been telling you?” Gwaine chimes in, overhearing Arthur's words.

“Fuck off, Gwaine,” Merlin hisses.

He can’t deny that Arthur is good at that -- at knowing what to say, when to say it, and how to smile in a certain way so his subject feels special. That’s what got Merlin in trouble to begin with, isn't it? Merlin fell for Arthur’s wit and charm, just like everyone else. Maybe he saw in Arthur something he wanted to have himself. But didn’t he decide a long time ago that he was special in his own right?

Which means he should go back to what he does best. Briefly closing his eyes, Merlin lays down the gallery’s floor plan in his mind and then realises that he can’t use his magic to survey the surroundings -- for that he'd have to let it out, and he can't in this place.

When he opens his eyes, Arthur stares at him with a wonder and amusement on his face.  
“So, ready to get out of here now?” Arthur asks.

Merlin hates losing. Especially losing to Arthur.

“How do I know you're not playing games with me? Maybe you already have it,” he suggests, narrowing his eyes, and immediately recognises _the_ expression appearing on Arthur’s face. He is not going to like what’s about to come out of Arthur’s mouth -- or maybe like it too much -- in the given circumstances.

With a sly curve to his mouth, Arthur wraps his fingers around Merlin’s wrist and pulls so Merlin has to come closer, so close, their chests are touching. Arthur pushes Merlin's hand into the front pocket of his jacket, pressing it to his hip, and whispers, “Would you like to frisk me?”

Merlin flushes and jerks his hand free. “Prat.”

Arthur laughs. “Is that all you can come up with?”

Apparently, yes. Merlin’s too flustered to offer something more clever. And fuck, he’s missed this Arthur so much. He’s missed him, period. And so has his magic, bouncing against the shield, stirred to life again by Arthur’s flirty words. 

Merlin knows when it’s time to concede. If the listing was staged, there aren’t a lot of scenarios to consider. Someone wanted Merlin here today. They lured him in so he would… do what? What do they want? Since they’ve used a transcript disguise, it's clear they’re after the missing Triskelion piece. He glances at Arthur. _Pieces_ \-- plural. Merlin is not the only one in danger here. And just like that, winning is no longer important to him.

“We’re leaving,” Merlin says, a little too forcefully.

Arthur levels a considering look at him. “Figured it out, didn’t you?”

“My calculations aren’t totally useless,” Merlin mutters and, leaving his glass of champagne with the nearby waiter, jerks his head towards the exit. “Let’s go. Together.”

Merlin isn’t going to let Arthur out of his sight.

 

~BRG~

 

“Are you leaving already?” Mrs Neide calls when they’re at the gallery exit. Her smile is pleasant, but the look in her eyes, jumping from Arthur’s face to Merlin’s and back, is not. “What about the presentation? Weren’t you interested in the watch collection to be auctioned, Mr Smith?”

Merlin snorts quietly -- rare watches collection? Of course, that would be totally Arthur’s thing.

At the same time, he notes the quiet appearance of two well-built men, guards, at both sides of the building behind her.

“I’m sorry, Mrs Niede, I’m afraid it’s impossible,” Arthur shuffles his foot and bows his head slightly. What a skill. Merlin could never do something like that -- seemingly kissing arse while telling someone off. “Mr Smith appears to have a nasty stomach bug. Uffff... Probably all the champagne and hors d'oeuvres.”

Merlin tries not to glare at his other half sharing too much information, even if made up, with a stranger.

“Poor thing.” Mrs Niede's sigh is not nearly genuine enough. “Oh well. If I can’t help you with anything else…” She pauses again, with her arms slightly spread, a pose more guarded than welcoming, and her eyes on them sharp and cold.

They shake their heads.

With a curt nod she dismisses them. “Very well. Good day to you, gentlemen.”

“She was profiling us," Merlin says quietly as they walk through the entrance arch of the building and into the street. "Have you noticed the security following us?"

Arthur nods. "One of her listings failed verification at the last minute and someone showed up who's not on the list. Of course she was trailing you."

"They wouldn't let me in if they knew my invitation was fake," Merlin scoffs.

"This is a fine establishment, Merlin. They know how to deal with arising issues subtly."

"Are you saying your invitation was authentic?"

Arthur smirks. "Cost me a small fortune. And for the record: if it weren't for me, you'd have been escorted out of there cuffed, and much sooner."

Merlin wants to disagree, but then, he can't deny Arthur had appeared at his rescue right on cue.

They stop at the corner of the street. At least now Merlin can let his restraining device down and does so happily, taking off the watch and dropping it into his pocket under Arthur’s quizzical gaze. How do people live without having magic? Just shielding it had anesthetised him; it was suffocating, and now he feels like he needs to stretch after falling asleep in an uncomfortable position. Having it free feels so good, he forgets how limited his powers have been lately.

Arthur looks at him knowingly. “Find anything?”

Merlin lets his magic stretch too, sending it to search the perimeter, and shakes his head. “Nothing... E, start packing. G, you may pick me up.”

“I may,” Gwaine responds in a second. “Or you know, you can walk.”

Elena doesn’t respond.

“How far is Leon?” Merlin asks, absolutely sure Arthur’s teammate is nearby.

“Not far,” Arthur says with an amused expression.

“Does your father know he’s here with you?”

Arthur stumbles. “My father…” He turns his head to meet Merlin’s eyes. “In light of recent events, I chose to turn in my badge. Leon wasn’t a permanent employee. His contract with the Bureau recently expired and he didn’t renew it.”

“Sounds oddly convenient,” Merlin says, only because he has to say something to that effect.

Arthur probably hears in Merlin’s voice that he doesn’t really mean to be rude. “I agree. It’s interesting how some things just work out. And how some don't, no matter how much you wish they did."

They stare at each other for a beat in total silence. Merlin shifts first.

“E, I need you to check something for me about the auction, just to be sure,” he says, and sees Gwaine’s car turning the corner. “You can give Leon our address.”

Arthur smiles. “He already knows.”

Not surprised, Merlin nods. What _does_ surprise him is that Elena isn’t responding.

Gwaine brakes before them, and Arthur slides into the back of the car while Merlin takes the front passenger seat.

“E?” he calls again and taps his comm, just to make sure it’s on. It is.

“She’s not online,” Gwaine says and guns it. "Her line just went dead."

“What do you mean?” Arthur asks.

Merlin bites his lips, staring at the side of Gwaine’s tense face. “How far is Leon from our flat? Call him,” he addresses Arthur.

Arthur takes out a mobile -- the latest version of a mainstream gimmick everyone's dying to own -- and dials a number.

“You must be fucking kidding me,” Merlin mutters, glancing at it with disgust. “I can see now that you weren’t having me on. You really are done with the Bureau if you're carrying _this_.”

Arthur rolls his eyes.“Being a snob again, Merlin? Leon, what’s your distance to Merlin’s flat?” he asks and listens for the response. “We lost comm with Elena. Yes, go in. Watch it. Need them alive.” He ends the call. Merlin appreciates his on-point commands.

“Is he far?” Gwaine asks, clenching his jaw. “We’ll be there in less than 5 minutes.”

Arthur says, “He’s almost there. He’ll call an ambulance if it’s serious.”

Gwaine floors it, manoeuvring around cyclist traffic on a narrow street. “Merlin? If she's--” His voice breaks.

“If she's hurt, as long as there is a flicker of pulse, I’ll help her,” Merlin assures him. “I’ll do everything I can.”

“I’ll kill the bastards if someone hurt her,” Gwaine promises. "I don't care who they are."

“Not until we talk to them,” Arthur says with such a decisiveness in his voice no one dares to speak against him.

The mobile in Merlin's hand starts buzzing, displaying Elena’s ID. He hastily presses “talk”. “E, what the bloody hell? Where are you?”

“Not E,” a male voice says, and Merlin feels his blood drain from his face. “But I know where she is.”

“Where?” Merlin croaks. Arthur leans forward, closer to him, and Gwaine slows down.  
“I borrowed her. Do I have your attention?”

"You bastard," Merlin says viciously. Out of all scenarios in his head for today, this one hadn’t made the list. How could he not have foreseen it? He shouldn’t have left Elena alone in the flat. The image of her tied and gagged somewhere makes his blood boil. “If you’ve harmed her--”

“She’s fine. Sufficiently disarmed. I couldn’t let her use her magic, could I? Other than that, she’s perfectly fine. For now.”

“Let me talk to her,” Merlin demands, pulling his tablet from the bag at his feet. He’s going to drag this conversation on for as long as he needs to trace the connection.  

“No. You’ll have to do something for me if you want your teammate back."

“Alive,” Merlin snaps, initiating the search using the tablet. “I want her back alive and without a single scratch."

Gwaine whips his head, and Arthur murmurs, “Watch the road.” Gwaine grips the wheel harder, and it groans under his fingers.

“No one will touch her," the voice says. "For the next twelve hours. That’s how long you’ve got."

Magic, Merlin needs his magic to do its job and help him to speed up the search process. He carefully pushes it out and feels his mobile warming up at his ear as the search is counting down on the tablet’s screen, but that doesn’t achieve the desired effect. It feels like his magic is crawling instead of zipping through the channel established between the two devices. Fickle weakling. This is supposed to be a simple task, something he’s done many times without breaking a sweat. Why is it when it’s most important, when he has to help his best friend, nothing works in his favor? Merlin slams his fist into the dashboard.

He growls, “What do you want?” 

“You already know,” the man says, his tone light. “I want the Triskelion.”

Merlin closes his eyes. Of course, the Triskelion, nothing less. He knew this project wasn’t going to be easy, but he never expected to face the sacrifices he’s being forced to make now. He aches just thinking about not fulfilling his promise to bring all pieces of the artifact together and repair its magic. Still, the answer comes easily.

“All right,” he says, trying to sound like it’s not breaking him inside. “I’ll get you the piece.”

“Oh Agent, don’t play naive. One piece won’t cut it. You’ll bring me two.”

Merlin darts his eyes to Arthur, who’s staring at Merlin with dark focus. “I don’t have the second piece,” he says quietly.

“But you have someone who can get it for you. Both pieces, or your precious Elena dies.”

“How do I know she isn’t already dead?”

“You don’t. But I know something about you and I don’t need a powerful, angry sorcerer on my back for the rest of my life. Let's play it smart, Agent, like businessmen, and everyone walks away satisfied.”

That's not Merlin's idea of satisfaction, but this is not the time to argue semantics.

“Off you go. I’ll stay in touch.” The voice laughs, and the line goes dead. Not just the line -- Merlin's magic loses the trace of the connection. The search stops with an error. He screams in frustration.

“The Triskelion?” Arthur asks quietly.

Merlin kicks his bag to let out his anger, and then takes a few deep breaths, collecting himself. “Yes, they want two pieces, and I have twelve hours to get them in exchange for Elena.”

“ _We_ have twelve hours,” Arthur corrects him. Merlin studies his face, his heart giving a start at Arthur’s earnest expression, and nods.

“Did they say if El’s okay?” Gwaine asks.

“Said she’s fine.”

"Do you know who they are?" Arthur asks.

"No. It was a man speaking. His voice..." Merlin presses his fingers to his temples, searching his memory for someone sounding familiar, but nothing comes up. "I don't understand... I haven’t heard a sound through the comm. Did they take her by surprise?"

“Here’s Leon,” Gwaine says as he stops the car right outside of their flat and leaves first.

He and Leon exchange handshakes and a few words. Leon clasps his hand on Gwaine’s shoulder while Gwaine runs his fingers through his hair.

Merlin and Arthur approach them.

“The flat is empty, doors unlocked. No signs of struggle,” Leon says.

Gwaine stares somewhere above everyone’s heads with a blank face, not speaking. Just stares up, his hands balled into fists. Merlin has never seen him this still and this miserable.

“Yes, let’s consider that good news," he says. "The bad news is, I don’t know where she is. Yet.”

Gwaine shifts, waking from his stupor. Turning to Merlin, determination settles on his face as he says, “I need another promise from you.”

“Of course,” Merlin agrees without hesitation.

“You’ll give them the Triskelion. No games. No bluffing. You’ll trade it for El. You will not risk her life,” his teammate demands, inching his dark, determined face to Merlin's.

“Of course I won't,” Merlin says, offended. “Who do you think I am?”

“You’re a warlock. I know what finding the Triskelion means to you.”

Merlin chooses not to answer, because yes, the thought of giving up on such a rare artifact makes something wither inside him, but he refuses to acknowledge that as something worth being treated as headline news.

“We need to check the flat for fingerprints and clues, and clean out. We’re going back to London,” Merlin says instead and turns towards their building.

The team follows him.

 

 

Searching the flat doesn’t yield many results. It's covered in fingerprints, but with this place being a rental, who knows which ones they should focus on? What Merlin can say for sure is that whoever visited the flat in the past hour had magic and released it with great force. He decides not to mention this to Gwaine.

Without Elena’s magic touch, not a lot fits in her travel bag. Certainly not any of the equipment she brought here.

“We better send someone to pack all of it up, or El will have our heads,” Gwaine mutters.

“Or you just don’t want to lose your precious gaming machine,” Merlin says.

“Sod off,” Gwaine says without heat.

“Is anything missing?” Arthur asks.

Merlin looks around. “No. Everything’s in place. Even Elena’s laptop.”

“So they really just wanted one thing,” Arthur muses.

“Yes. Or more like two,” Merlin agrees. “So we better come up with a plan how to get what they want. The clock is ticking and we still have to make it to London.” He opens his mobile and does a quick search. “By train would be fastest, but with changing stations in Brussels, security checks and passport controls, we’re still looking at a minimum of five hours just on travel, which leaves us with less than seven hours to retrieve both pieces of the Triskelion. I doubt either the Agency or the Bureau will easily part with them, so we have our work cut out for us.”

As Merlin speaks, Leon is telling someone warmly, “Bye-bye-bye-bye,” on his mobile and nods to Arthur.

“We have a better solution,” Arthur says. “A private plane.”

“Excuse you, Mister Posh Pants,” Gwaine says, already standing at the door with his and Elena’s bags, looking like he’s over his initial shock and ready to punch the world in the face. He turns to Merlin. “Daisy, you didn’t tell me you married rich.”

“Actually,” Merlin says, glancing at Arthur, “I distinctly remember telling you that my husband was a financier. Whatever that means.”

“I’m right here, you know.” Arthur gestures to Leon to get going, and adds, matter-of-factly, “Yes, I can afford small luxuries on occasion.”

“You’re calling a private plane a small luxury?” Gwaine asks, pulling the keys to the flat from the hook on the wall.

Arthur shrugs. “Take it or leave it.”

Gwaine bumps his shoulder. “Oh no, you’re on, princess. Let’s go.”

Leon and Gwaine leave the flat first. Arthur holds Merlin behind and murmurs, “Husband?”

“What?” Merlin asks.

“You called me your husband.”

“I--” Merlin feels his cheeks growing hot. “I meant _then_. It wasn’t... You don’t need to worry--”

“God, you’re an idiot,” Arthur says, and presses his lips to Merlin’s, shutting him up.

Merlin doesn’t even think to resist. His magic happily rushes forward to meet Arthur, as if determined to let him know how much it approves of this particular action, but Merlin’s careful, so careful not to let it lap Arthur up like it obviously wants. The kiss from Arthur is chaste, but so reverent, Merlin feels like the world that’s been terribly askew and bleak for weeks, brightens up again. With his eyes closed, he leans into the kiss, letting himself savour this moment, but it’s over too soon -- Gwaine coughs loudly, breaking them up.

“If you don’t hurry up, then you’re utter pillocks and I’m leaving without you.”

Merlin and Arthur melt apart, sufficiently chastised. Merlin grabs his bag and pats for his mobile, not meeting Arthur’s eyes. “I’m ready,” he mumbles, desperately trying not to look dazed.

Arthur clears his throat, nodding, and follows him out of the flat, and if their hands and shoulders brush as they walk to the car with waiting Leon, neither of them comment on it or lean away.

 

The private plane is indeed very small, fitting only four people, including a pilot. Merlin and Gwaine exchange a raised brow when they realise, as they settle in the cabin, that it’s Leon who’ll be flying them today. Somehow, without discussing it, Merlin and Arthur take seats in the back next to each other, and Gwaine -- by Leon.

“Leon served in RAF. You’re in good hands,” Arthur assures them as they watch Leon perform the necessary checks.

“I’m fine with Leon,” Gwaine says, turning to them. “It’s you two I don’t trust.”

Merlin sighs. “Why is that?”

“Because right now, you look like you'd rather be flying a hot-air balloon into the sunset and reading poetry to each other. Dial down the starry eyes, you wankers, we’re on the job.”

Leon barks a laugh. “ _You’re_ complaining? I was the one witnessing this bloke here suffer,” he hooks his thumb at Arthur, “while he contemplated the existential question whether to call or not to call his dear other half.”

“You haven’t seen this one here, mate,” Gwaine says, nodding at Merlin. “He--”

“Enough,” Merlin interrupts this nonsense, flicking his eyes to Arthur, who’s sporting a soft blush and such a pleased expression, Merlin isn’t sure whether he wants to hide or hear the detailed account of how Arthur possibly pined after him.

He straightens up, and Arthur does the same as they’re looking at each other. A thrill runs down Merlin's spine -- torturous, delicious -- at Arthur's unapologetic gaze. It’s going to be hard to be so close to him and not reach out to touch him, Merlin feels. How will he be able to concentrate when all he wants is to snog the living daylights out of this perfect man, with his hair raked in a particularly sexy way and his gorgeous red mouth that's curved into a shy smile right now? He’s missed him like crazy. But then Merlin switches his gaze to Gwaine, who lets his brave expression slip and show how much he’s worried behind his stoic facade, and it’s enough for Merlin to snap into action mode.

“Leon, how long is the flight?” he asks.

Leon loses his smile and looks down at the dash before him. “Forty-eight minutes.”

"All right, we have plans to make," Merlin says, and everyone nods. "First of all..." He digs into his bag at his feet and takes out a spare mobile device, handing it over to Arthur. "You’ll start using this instead of your tech-flick garbage."

With an openly-surprised look on his face, Arthur accepts the mobile. "I-- Okay."

"It already has the team's contacts programmed as well as mine, in case you forgot it," Merlin continues like it’s nothing. "Be aware, the device is enhanced with my magic, which means--"

"Wait," Arthur says. "You packed one of your devices for me for this trip?"

"It's not a 'one of'," Merlin corrects him. "This device is unique. I've designed it to do the op--"

"Merlin," Arthur stops him again, leaning closer to peer at his face. "You prepared it just for me. When?"

Merlin shrugs, looking away. "Few days ago." Arthur doesn’t need to know that he worked double-time just to finish it along with the watch artifact for himself, and he's still recovering from it. Magic is just not cooperating the way it used to.

Arthur makes a small sound in his throat. The atmosphere in the cabin turns tense, and aside from the engines vibrating the floor and the whistling of air, it becomes unnaturally still.

" _Mer_ lin." Arthur puts his warm hand on Merlin’s knee. "Does this mean you've factored me into your calculations ahead of time?"

"It wasn't calculations," Merlin says quietly, but Arthur manages to catch it even through the noises of the plane.

"Then what was it?"

Merlin meets Arthur's intense stare, although it’s not easy, and says, "Hope."

"Leon," Gwaine says at the most appropriate moment. Of course he watched them. "What's this aircraft's policy on the mile-high club?"

Leon snorts. “We've no facilities onboard.”

"There you go, then." Gwaine flicks a balled piece of paper at Merlin. “Break it up, tossers, you heard the man -- no shagging possible here. Concentrate, for fuck’s sake.”

Merlin and Arthur shift away from each other. Arthur coughs into his hand, which Merlin already knows is his habit when he feels uncomfortable or guilty.

“Okay. As I was saying...” He tries to gather his thoughts again. “ Um... yes... this device.” His eyes find the mobile in Arthur’s hand. “It detects the presence of magic and conducts it back to you. It’s kind of the opposite of what I have here.”

He takes the watch out of his trouser pocket. “I designed this one to conceal magic,” he explains to Arthur. “It acts like a shield, concealing my magic from the rest of the world.” Merlin chooses not to mention the other, less exciting effects the device has on him.

“Ah, I see,” Arthur says, not doing a good job at covering the admiration in his voice, which makes Merlin feel inappropriately giddy. He tries not to show it; if he does, Gwaine will probably -- most likely -- kill him.

“I'll teach you how to activate the device's detection mode with magic,” Merlin says.

“You mean a spell?” Arthur asks, his blue eyes widening.

“Yes. Um… Are you okay with that?” Merlin asks, suddenly worried that he could be offering something the other man doesn’t want -- or is against his beliefs.

“Yes, of course. ” Arthur nods vigorously. “Please. I-- I’m just surprised. I didn’t think I could…”

Merlin thinks about it, and smiles. “Anyone can, Arthur. That’s the thing. Magic is sacred, yes, but it’s not some unattainable thing that can only be used by the high and mighty. That’s an unfortunate myth. Everyone can, if properly taught.” Merlin pauses again and nods to himself, feeling lighter at this realisation. “Everyone should have a little bit of magic in their life. I think it was always designed to be that way, and I don’t know when and why it stopped being so, but maybe we can change it?”

“Merlin...” Arthur smiles and shakes his head.

Merlin blinks. “What?”

"Wankers," Gwaine coughs out loudly into his hand.

“Shut up, Gwaine,” Merlin says. “I will…” He glances at Arthur. “ _We_ will get Elena back. You’re freaking out won’t help. Now, the _plan_ …”

“Watch him calculate it to death,” Gwaine tells Arthur.

“Actually, my calculations seek the opposite result,” Merlin retorts. “Arthur, any chance you could speak with your father and convince him to turn the artifact over to us in good faith? That could save us a ton of trouble.”

Arthur shakes his head. “I already thought about it. I could try to persuade him, but I think it’ll only provoke him to tighten the security on the Triskelion or relocate it. It’s better he doesn’t know.”

Merlin rubs his arm, thinking. “I guess you're right.”

“What about Morgana?” Arthur asks. “Should we just ask her?”

Merlin nods. “Definitely. She wouldn’t abandon Elena.”

“And if she does decide to bluff?” Gwaine asks. “She’s not one to give in easily.”

Arthur and Merlin look at each other. “Gaius,” they say at once.

“And if he refuses to help, I have a few more viable options,” Merlin says. “Granted, there are more risks involved. One--”

“Daisy, please.” Gwaine raises his palms. “Just tell me you have a solid plan to get Elena and what I have to do.”

“Landing in ten minutes,” Leon announces. “Fasten your seat belts.” He glances over his shoulder. “So are you going into both places together, or are you splitting up?”

“Together,” Merlin and Arthur say, not skipping a beat. Merlin chews on his lip, suppressing a smile.

“Please buckle up,” Arthur murmurs to him and turns his face away. Merlin is sure he just saw a glimpse of a smile there, too.

 

 

Landing is the one part of flying Merlin hates. No matter how smooth it is, he always ends up a bit nauseous afterwards. This one is especially rough, probably due to the plane being so small. He closes his eyes, gripping the edge of his seat.

“Is your little tummy upset?” Arthur asks quietly once they’re in the car Leon fetched for them. “You look a little green.”

Their hands rest on the seat next to each other, almost touching, and Merlin doesn’t want to move.

“It’s all right,” Merlin says, rolling down the window and taking deep breaths of London brisk, misty air he’s missed. “It’ll pass in a minute.”

“Why don’t you use your magic to send it away?”

Merlin doesn’t answer, pressing his lips together.

“He’s saving it up,” Gwaine says.

“No one asked you,” Merlin grinds out.

“Why?” Arthur asks. “I’ve seen what you can do with your magic… This can’t be too hard.”

Merlin clenches his hand into a fist, cursing the attention on him.

“Merlin.” Arthur moves his hand so it touches his, Merlin’s skin prickling at the contact. “So, it’s true what Morgana told me.”

Merlin frowns. “What?”

“About your magic not being the same…”

“Is that why you’re here? Out of some kind of pity?” Merlin crosses his arms on his chest. “Whatever Morgana has told you, she exaggerated.”

“Merlin, don’t be daft,” Gwaine says.

“We’re here,” Leon says, and Merlin’s only too happy to leave the car first and avoid further discussion on this topic. He's fine, he's strong. The nausea's already gone. He's fine.

It’s dark outside, so it takes him a moment to recognise the place. He whips around to ask what the bloody hell and comes face to face with Arthur.

“Why are we at your flat?” Merlin asks, feeling his irritation rise. “We were supposed to go to the Agency.”

Arthur casually walks past him towards his building.

“There are no bosses here, Merlin, and you’re not gonna be making decisions for all of us.”

“Fine,” Merlin says. “We’re waiting for you here for five minutes and then leaving.” 

“Oh no.” Arthur turns. “You’re coming upstairs with me.”

There’s something in the tone of his voice that has Merlin following him without another objection.

They head up the stairs to the second floor. The path is familiar to Merlin -- he's been here enough times to know how many steps it takes to reach the door of Arthur’s flat, even with his eyes closed. Arthur unlocks the flat, and walks in first, gesturing to Merlin to come in. As soon as Merlin does, Arthur closes the door behind him and presses him into it. Merlin doesn’t have a moment to think as he’s being kissed -- fiercely -- Arthur’s hands in Merlin’s hair, Arthur moaning into the kiss.

As soon as their tongues touch, Merlin’s magic surges up, rushing to his head so quickly, he’s dizzy. Having Arthur this way after so long feels so damn good. He groans.

“Tell me what you need,” Arthur says between more kisses. “What can I do?”

Merlin doesn’t respond, too consumed by the feel of Arthur's hot mouth on him.

“Merlin.” Arthur tugs on Merlin’s hair.

“I’m fine,” Merlin murmurs against Arthur’s lips, gripping at his shirt, not letting Arthur move further away. Not yet. He needs just another moment like this, and then they'll go. “I promise, I'll be fine.”

“But you’re not.” Arthur kisses his jaw, his cheek, his temple. “Are you? It’s something to do with the Triskelion, isn’t it?”

“I’m not sure what it is.” Merlin buries his nose into the crook of Arthur’s neck, inhaling the familiar, sun-warm smell of his skin. “It’s not that bad. I feel better now. With you,” he admits.

“Morgana said--”

Merlin grimaces. “She shouldn’t have said anything.”

Arthur leans back a little to look at Merlin. “But she did. She had to, if I’m the reason you’re this way.”

Merlin smiles weakly. “Presumptuous much?”

Arthur smiles too. “I think we established that a while ago. It’s too late to change me now.”

“Prat,” Merlin says affectionately. “I don’t know why I’m putting up with you.” He pauses and then wonders, “But something’s changed. What changed, Arthur?”

Merlin isn’t being very eloquent, but Arthur understands him anyway. He hitches his shoulder in a small shrug, his mouth curving into a smirk. “I missed your cooking too much.”

Merlin doesn’t feel like joking. “But I’ve lied to you.”

“So have I. I’m glad I don’t have to anymore.”

“We worked against each other,” Merlin reminds him of another important fact.

“And now we don’t. Merlin.” Arthur searches his eyes. “I made a mistake. I will not let you go this time if I can help it.”

“But we don’t even know each other,” Merlin protests, sounding completely unconvincing.

“I already know what I need to know.”

“Yeah? What’s that?” Now Merlin’s flirting -- something he didn’t think he was capable of before Arthur.

Arthur leans in to kiss him again, softly. “I know that when you were your loneliest, you chose _me_ out of all people.”

Merlin hums, not disagreeing.

“Very clever of you, by the way.” Arthur continues, the tone of his voice slightly changing. “Best decision you could’ve ever made. Remember what I told you that day?”

“What?” Merlin melts under Arthur’s next gentle kiss and the brush of his fingers over the side of his neck.

“I’m a real catch.”

Merlin laughs softly. “Yeah, _that_ I remember. And I know what _you_ want.”

“Oh yeah?” Arthur asks, running his hand down Merlin’s chest and stopping to slide his fingers under his shirt while kissing him below his ear. “And what’s that?”

Merlin shivers at the touch, but finds it in himself to say as lightly as he can manage, “You want to marry me properly and have my babies."

Arthur snorts a laugh. "Who's full of it now?"

"Don't lie to me," Merlin insists, grinning. "You like all the proper things.” 

“That I do,” Arthur agrees. “Now that that’s sorted…” He finds Merlin’s mouth again, and they plunge into another dizzying kiss.

Merlin’s mobile dings with a message a long moment later, finally breaking them up.

“Gwaine…” they groan at the same time.

“Fuck.” Grudgingly stepping back, Merlin runs a hand through his hair. “He’s right, we _are_ pillocks. Whatever you needed here, hurry. Grab and go.”

Arthur coughs into his hand, nodding. “Do you want to change?”

Merlin looks down at himself. He’s still wearing his dress shirt (already untucked, and he knows whose job that was), trousers, and loafers.

“Your things are in the closet,” Arthur says, sounding nonchalant. “I’ll change, too.”

Merlin isn’t fooled by that tone. His heart beats faster at the thought that Arthur kept Merlin’s things in his flat. So, he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t lost hope. He smiles, following Arthur into the bedroom.

“Don’t forget the device I g--” Merlin stops in his tracks.

Arthur’s standing in the closet in front of a makeshift shelf by the further wall, which is stocked with things Merlin never expected to see in this flat. Without looking at Merlin, Arthur picks up one of the bullet-proof vests from the shelf, inspects it, and throws it to Merlin. “Put this on."

“Um... Arthur--”

“Don’t argue,” Arthur says, quickly changing into jeans and a shirt, showing no sign of being uncomfortable undressing in front of Merlin, and picks up the second vest for himself. He then takes a walkie-talkie from the shelf, and, flipping it in his hand, puts it back. “I think we have something better.” He turns to Merlin with a smile. “Come on, Merlin, don’t just stand there. We gotta move.”

“Er... “ Merlin wakes up and grabs whatever outfit he can find in the dresser, slipping into it quickly. The vest, surprisingly lightweight, goes under the jumper.

“By the way, I have to show you how the artifact works. It’s very easy.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Arthur says. He pushes the shelf, watching it slide silently back into the wall, and rearranges his suits the way they were before, covering it.

Merlin chooses to ask questions later, but then Arthur pulls out another shelf, stuffed with neatly rolled socks -- there's at least 3 dozen of them.

"You know," Merlin says, watching Arthur pick a pair. "I always wondered about your almost-compulsive need to wear them even when it's hot."

Arthur glances at him, and it looks like he's blushing. "Especially when hot," he says.

"Why?"

"Um..." Arthur straightens. "I buy ones made with special technology -- a highly-breathable fabric, so..."

Merlin laughs. "So you do believe in technology when it's convenient for you."

"Actually, what works best is a very old remedy, suggested to me by Gaius when I was still a teenager."

"What remedy?"

"Doesn't matter." Arthur tries to pass by Merlin, but Merlin grabs his arm.

"Come on, tell me," he coaxes. "What's the big secret?" He pulls Arthur into an embrace.

Arthur closes his eyes. "It's not a secret," he mumbles.

"Yeah?" Merlin brushes his lips over his cheek. “No more lies?”

Arthur shakes his head and sighs. "Starch."

"Hmmm?" Merlin nibbles on the side of Arthur's jaw, and Arthur's visibly yielding under his touch.

"I put starch in my socks."

Merlin laughs softly and tightens his arms around stiffened Arthur, who tries to pull away, but Merlin holds him firmly.

"Gaius, who knows magic, suggested starch?" he asks, and then something dawns on him and he stops laughing. "You've never been shown how good magic can be, even by Gaius, have you?"

Arthur looks in Merlin's eyes. "No. Will _you_?"

Merlin can't help a grin spreading on his face. "Yes, it'll be my pleasure. And we'll start with your stinky feet."

Arthur pushes him off. "My feet are not stinky."

"You secretly put _starch_ in your socks, Arthur."

Laughing, Merlin follows Arthur, who swiftly moves into the kitchen and goes straight to the oven. Opening the oven’s door, he presses something on the inside of the wall and the shelves start rearranging themselves. A new shelf slides out and flips around, revealing an array of firearms strapped onto the tray.

“You keep your ammo in the oven?” Merlin asks, bewildered.

“Best hiding place,” Arthur says.

“Did you always keep it there?”

“Yep.”

"But..." Merlin shakes his head in disbelief. “What if I'd found it?”

Arthur barks a laugh. “When was the last time you touched a stove, let alone an oven?”

Merlin feels himself blush. “Well… There was one time.”

“Yes, we all remember that one time. You failed to figure out how to even turn it on,” Arthur teases.

“You are such a plonker, you know that?” Merlin grumbles, but there's something in Arthur's voice that has Merlin thinking that maybe Arthur hoped Merlin would see what was really there behind a sausage and bean casserole and Arthur wouldn't have to hide who he was anymore. Merlin finds himself unable to take his eyes away from Arthur, tracing his every move. 

“It’s the truth.” Arthur picks up what Merlin recognises as a Magnum handgun, checks it, and places it on the kitchen table in front of Merlin. “For you.” He adds a holster and two clips to it.

Merlin hesitates.

Arthur’s already loading a second Magnum, for himself. “What’s the matter? You don’t know how to use a gun?”

“I do,” Merlin says. He wouldn’t have passed his agent exam if he didn’t. “I trust my magic more.” He also remembers the poisoned bullets and Arthur’s swollen face as life was seeping out of him. He hates guns.

“I’m sorry, Merlin, it pains me to say this, but I’m afraid I can't rely just on your magic. What happens if you’re drained again? I saw you drained. What happens if firing this gun turns out to be the only way to save Elena? Or you? Did you think of that scenario? I did, and I’m not taking any chances. Neither should you.”

Merlin considers arguing that his magic can beat any gun any day, but thinks better of it. Arthur’s right. He can’t afford to be cocky today. He picks up the Magnum and loads it, sticking the second clip into the holster he puts on.

Arthur’s expression softens. “Thank you. Now, time to move.”

There’s a certain quality to that command -- a tone of voice that Merlin suspects Arthur uses often. It’s the voice of a man who knows how to issue orders and is used to being obeyed.

"Did you serve, too?" Merlin asks. "Like Leon?"

Arthur pauses, contemplating his response, and nods. Yes, they have yet to learn a lot about each other.

“So, the Agency first.” Merlin checks his clock. They have 8 hours and 6 minutes left, and it’s past midnight. “I’ve left messages for both Morgana and Gaius. At least they can’t say I didn’t try to speak with them.”

“Heard anything back?”

“Gaius is waiting for us. Morgana is out of the country.”

“Is it wrong that I’m actually relieved that she is?” Arthur asks as he opens the front door and they walk out.

“No, I know what you mean. Except, I’m afraid, Gaius would be too scared to make a decision without her. He’s old school, although he loves Elena.”

“Then we’ll make a decision for him,” Arthur says.

Gwaine attacks them as soon as they’re back in the car. “What took you so long? If you--”

“Gwaine, quit it,” Merlin says firmly. “Yes, we took a few minutes to talk, but you'll not make me feel guilty about that. If we’re acting as a team, we need just that -- a team -- and Arthur and I had a few things we needed to settle.”

“By snogging?”

“Mate,” Leon says, accelerating. “Give them a break.” It doesn’t stop him from sending them a quizzical glance in the rear-view mirror. “Is it settled, then?” he asks.

Merlin brushes his knee with Arthur’s, and Arthur raises his brow as if also interested to hear his response.

“It’s settled,” Merlin says and smiles.

Arthur smiles back.

“Good,” Leon says. “Where to now?”

“The Agency,” Merlin says. “Now…” He turns to Arthur. “Your new mobile. Let me give you a crash course.”

Arthur’s like a sponge. Despite Merlin’s teasing, he has no problem grasping the special features the device is packed with. He’s especially impressed with the mobile’s ability to project and interact with holographic images, detect poison in the bloodstream, and what’s more important -- it lasts practically forever on a single battery charge, which Arthur finds brilliant.

“Magic.” Merlin smiles.

“Indeed,” Arthur agrees.

“So, _magic_ ,” Merlin says again. “ _Words_.”

“Oh, right. Magic words.” Arthur brings the mobile close to his mouth, looking at Merlin. “So, do I touch something and talk into this here? Like, ‘Okay, mobile, find an artifact and it does?”

Merlin sighs dramatically. “My magic is _nothing_ like that. You’re a massive prat if you think you can just bark orders at it and expect results. It’s more delicate and smarter than that. It's intuitive, once activated with the spell; and for security reasons, I've just set it to respond only to you. Well, and me, obviously."

"Like to my... voice or by a retinal scan?" Arthur asks, turning the device in his hand with curiosity.

Merlin makes an undignified noise. "Absolute bollocks, that kind of security. I've conditioned it to respond to your heartbeat. Eventually, you won’t even need to use the spell. It’ll be on the same wavelength with you."

Arthur looks gobsmacked.

“Daisy," Gwaine says. "Not everyone is as open-minded and conversed in tech-magic speak as you are. Give a bloke a chance.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Okay, fine. I suppose you _can_ use a personal assistant AI analogy... If your imagination can’t run wilder than that. Go ahead, touch anywhere you like and--”

Arthur leans very close to Merlin and whispers, his words sweet as honey against the shell of Merlin’s ear, “Oh, I will. Wait ‘til I take you back to my bed, baby. We’ll see whose imagination’s wilder -- yours or mine.”

Merlin suddenly finds it difficult to breathe. His cheeks flaming, he lowers his head and tries his hardest to control the shake of his hands and his voice as he finishes this damn tutorial.

Arthur, the bloody tease, just keeps sitting very, very close and smiling like it's nothing.

 

 

There’s a certain advantage to the fact that their timetable for this mission falls after business hours.

The place is never dead, but at almost midnight, it’s certainly not crowded.

“Do you know where the artifact is being kept?” Arthur asks quietly in the lift. He gives a cursory glance around and up, narrowing his eyes, and Merlin's sure he’s just spotted the security cameras, which makes him strangely proud of his partner.

Merlin knows the layout of this building like the back of his hand, but he doesn’t use the trick of seeking out the artifact’s magic like he usually does when he wants to confirm its location. There’s no need.

“Yes, of course. It’s in the archive vaults downstairs,” he says.

Arthur chews on his cheek. “What happens if we’re not able to convince Gaius? Are we breaking into the archives?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” he murmurs and smiles. “I’m banking on your excellent persuasion skills.”

Arthur laughs softly. “Yeah, no. Gaius has known me and all my tricks for getting what I want since birth.”

The doors of the lift open and they walk out, Merlin first, their steps muted by the soft carpet under their feet. He hasn’t been here in three weeks, and so much has changed since then. The hallways are narrow and dimly lit; it feels… strangely small here in the office. Stifling. It surprises Merlin. The Agency has always been his home -- a place where he felt like himself, accepted, respected. He’s thrived here. Yet now, it feels like something foreign. Even the familiar smells grate on him: of stale coffee, pizza leftovers from the lunch room and a hint of lavender from the air freshener. He sniffs and grimaces.

Light peers from under Gaius’s office door. Merlin knocks.

“Yes, yes, come in!” his mentor croaks.

“Just look at you, my lads,” Gaius says, walking from behind his desk. He goes right to Arthur and hugs him. “It’s been months, Arthur. Not a single call.” 

Arthur accepts the hug but glances back at Merlin; his expression is that of a person who’s a little embarrassed but also secretly pleased with the affection they’re receiving. Merlin studies his hands, giving them a moment.

“How are you, Gaius?” Arthur asks softly.

“I’m well. All is well.” Gaius finally releases him. “Sit, sit. Merlin, you too.” He gestures at the chairs. “It’s a shame that the reason you decided to see me after this long is so unfortunate.”

Arthur clears his throat. “Yes. I’m sorry, too.”

“Well.” Gaius turns to Merlin. “Any more word from Elena’s captors?”

“No,” Merlin says. “Gaius, we need your help.”

“I know, my boy, I know. The Triskelion.” The old man sighs. “But Morgana hasn’t responded to my inquiry yet.”

“Surely you have the authority to make decisions in extreme cases like this one,” Arthur says.

Gaius shakes his head. “The security rules are very explicit. Nothing can leave these walls without Morgana LeFay’s written permission.”

“What about when I need an artifact for a mission?” Merlin asks. “I’ve taken plenty without going to Morgana.”

“Your team still follows the formal process,” Gaius says. “You should thank that girl -- Elena makes your life too easy and you don’t even know how excellent she is. When she calls with requests, she always insists that ‘Wizard goes to the front of the line’.” Gaius's imitation of Elena’s high-pitched voice has no resemblance to the real thing, but Merlin still smiles. “And she never takes no for an answer.”

“Gaius, please help us,” Arthur pleads quietly.

Gaius smacks his lips, his face turning serious. “Wait here for a minute,” he instructs and leaves.

He comes back several minutes later with a small flat box in his hands and places it on the table in front of them.

“Is that...?” Merlin begins, but he already knows what it is, having felt the subdued presence of magic as soon as Gaius walked back in.

“Yes, the Triskelion piece.” Gaius opens the lid and Merlin jolts at the wave of magic hitting him, the rush of needle-sharp prickles penetrating his skin.

Merlin takes a deep breath, waiting for the sensation to subside. It does only a little.

“I studied it while you were away,” Gaius says to Merlin. “Its magic is very tricky. How are you feeling, son? Tell me the truth.”

“Not great,” Merlin admits, hesitating.

“Does this piece have anything to do with it?” Arthur interjects, his brows pulling together. “Is it hurting Merlin?”

“I don’t think its magic is malicious -- it’s more like an act of preservation,” Gaius says. “Merlin, tell me, have you touched the Triskelion at all?”

“I’ve told you before -- no, I haven’t.” Is Gaius getting too old and his memory growing weaker?

Gaius strokes his chin. “Very peculiar…”

“What’s peculiar?” Merlin asks.

“I suspect the artifact has established some sort of a connection with you. You felt something special about it from the start, didn't you?”

“I did,” Merlin confirms.

“Try to remember. If you haven’t touched it physically, have you maybe tried to do something to it magically?”

Merlin rubs his eyes with the heel of his palms. “No…Well...” He looks up and hesitates. "Let's say I kind of _talked_ to it.”

“What do you mean, talked?” Arthur asks.

“I felt that there was something off about it right away,” Merlin recalls. “Even before I saw it. Its magic was... ” He shakes his head. “I know it sounds weird, but I couldn’t help but think it was calling for my help, so I made a vow to find the missing pieces and fix it.”

Merlin’s blushing. Making a promise to an inanimate object might have felt like a normal thing to do at the time, but when said out loud, it probably sounds like he’s gone soft in the head.

“Ah,” Gaius says, a smile appearing on his face. “And there’s your answer! Morgana and I suspected it. We thought that you might have created a sort of a bond with the artifact and its magic hooked itself to your magic. I believe it was meant to be that way once you found it, but to complement your strength. But because it’s broken, you feel what it feels.”

“You’re talking about it like it’s something alive,” Arthur scoffs.

“Magic gave you back your life, did you forget?" Merlin can't help his irritation, if not the disappointment in his tone, at how little Arthur thinks of magic, still.

“I didn't forget,” Arthur says, his expression turning contrite. “I’m thankful for it, Merlin, truly. To you. I--”

"Magic is all around us. It has its own ecosystem, if you will,” Gaius says. “It’s a complex, incredibly capable thing that hasn’t been nurtured the way it should be for way too long, despite our efforts. It does its best to survive."

“Use the spell,” Merlin says suddenly.

Arthur blinks at him. “Do what?”

“Where's the device? Take it out and activate it.”

Arthur looks skeptical, and Merlin knows why: their earlier training session in the car ended with Arthur's several botched attempts to turn magic on. Too soon, they've arrived to the Agency and had to go.

After a moment of apprehension, Arthur retrieves the mobile from his pocket and places it carefully on his palm, face up. Looking at Merlin, he says into it slowly, “ _Ic ia tóspringe.”_ Nothing happens. He drops his eyes to the device and repeats the spell, louder, with more insistence. He says it once again, and again, his shoulders sagging a little more each time nothing happens, but then the screen of the device flashes, turning off and on.

“What is this?” Gaius asks.

“Merlin.” Arthur twists around to Merlin “Did I break it? Or did it work?”

Merlin smiles. “You tell me.”

Arthur frowns. “Hmmm…uh... I feel... Oh…” His eyes widen.

“What’s wrong?” Gaius asks.

“I just felt something.” Arthur lowers his voice to a whisper. “Oh, wow.”

“What do you feel?” Merlin asks.

“Something… prickly. Not… pleasant.” Arthur swallows, darting his eyes to the Triskelion piece and then back to the device in his hand. “Er… It’s intense. Makes my stomach roll.”

“This is fantastic!” Gaius exclaims, as if Arthur’s feeling ill is some sort of a brilliant discovery they should all feel happy about.

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” Merlin mutters, reaching for the device, but Arthur steps back and doesn’t give it up.

“Oh no, my boy, not at all,” Gaius says, patting Merlin’s shoulder. “Do you want to know something even more fantastic? All I feel is a strong, pulsing energy from the Triskelion. It doesn’t have the same unpleasant effect on me. Or Morgana. And we’re both trained to sense magic.”

“So, just me and Arthur?” Merlin asks, sending his magic to shut down the device.

"Yes, and magic just solidified it." Gaius looks at them triumphantly. “My lads, you _must_ find the third piece! That’s what you should do.”

“Gaius, we can’t. We have to turn in two recovered pieces in exchange for Elena, remember? We're on the clock and she's in danger.”

“Right, right," Gaius says, a far away expression dawning on his face. “Right... Well...” He comes back from wherever he’s just wandered to, his eyes more clear. “You have one piece. Good luck.”

"Are we getting you in trouble?" Arthur asks.

Gaius waves that off. "What can she do? I've been unofficially retired for... You don't want to know how long. This is worth the risk." He closes the box with the Triskelion piece and pushes it towards Merlin. “You’re its guardian, so you hold it.”

“Gaius, is there anything else we should know?” Merlin asks. “Why is this artifact so important? What’s happening to us?”

Gaius sighs. “I wish I had an answer for you. If only you could make it whole...”

Merlin wants to protest again, but Arthur grabs his arm. “Thank you, Gaius. You’ve done so much for us already.” He carefully picks up the box with the artifact and hands it Merlin. “Merlin, let's go.”

Passing Merlin on his way out, Arthur shivers a little as he goes, and Merlin guesses it’s from the lingering remnants of magic, probably still buzzing at his skin.

Merlin can’t help himself -- he lets a little bit more of his magic skip towards Arthur, touching, caressing him, enveloping him in a light, protective sheen. Arthur shivers again, his gaze finding Merlin.

“Merlin… Oh.” His eyes brighten, mouth slackening a little. “It’s _you_ now _,_ isn’t it?”

Merlin grins and practically skips to the lifts.

It’s not just him anymore. It’s _them_.

He feels like pulling the Triskelion out of the box and shaking it like a magic eight-ball, asking, “Will Arthur and I be together again, like before?”

What would it say?

“Doubtful…”

“Don’t count on it...”

“Ask again later...”

Who knows? Although, with another tentative tug of magic between him and Arthur, it feels like it would tell him, “You’re a girl’s blouse and a hopeless dolt.”

 _Fuck it,_ Merlin thinks and decides to consider it as, “Outlook good”.

 ~

“Who knew our old man was such a rebel,” Gwaine says fondly after Merlin quickly recites their adventure in the car. He's in the passenger seat next to a driving Leon, leaving Arthur and Merlin no choice but to sit in the back. Merlin doesn't mind, and it looks like Arthur, settling down so close their shoulders and hips are connected, doesn't either. The reassuring warmth coming from Arthur's body is palpable and feels like it seeps straight to Merlin's bones, giving him strength.

“I’m surprised, too,” Merlin says.

“I’m not,” Leon speaks up. “Gaius always does the right thing when it matters. He doesn’t always choose a direct way to do it, but I knew he’d come through. I can’t tell you how many times, when we were kids, he opposed certain ideas of Uther’s, yet did it in such a non-confrontational, sincere way, no one could throw it in his face. And believe me, it’s practically impossible to stand up to Uther and win.”

“Maybe it’s not about winning,” Arthur wonders. “Gaius’s compromised a lot; I’ve seen it, but he always told me it was about a choice you could or could not live with. When my father threw Morgana out, Gaius chose to support her; he was the one who joined the Agency first and then took Morgana under his wing. My father was livid when he found out.”

“Eh. Your father is always livid. And it was like water off a duck’s back, remember?” Leon recalls, smiling. “Gaius quietly watched Uther throwing an epic tantrum, and when he was done, Gaius calmly bowed out, citing his tight high blood pressure-medication schedule.”

Arthur laughs. “Basically, he showed Uther he wasn’t taking any of his shit. Too bad I was too young to appreciate it then.”

“And now he’s gone against Morgana’s ideas,” Gwaine comments.

“So maybe it was the only choice he could live with,” Merlin suggests, his respect for his mentor reaching a new level. He turns to Arthur. “No chance for us to be as lucky at the Bureau?”

Arthur tilts his head, looking at Merlin. “I’d stick to the plan, Merlin. How much time do we have?”

“We have seven hours and two minutes,” Merlin says after checking. “It’s not a lot, so we’ll have to think on our feet.”

“What’s our strategy?” Leon asks. “Are we heading to the Bureau?”

“Yes. We have no time for complicated plans,” Merlin starts, the wheels in his mind already turning.

“Occam’s razor,” Arthur murmurs, looking ahead, eyes clouding with thought.

“Isn’t it your favourite saying?” Gwaine asks, wiggling his eyebrows at Merlin. “‘All perfect things are simple’, or something like that?”

“Something like that.” Merlin’s voice is gruff and he avoids eye contact with Arthur.

Coughing, Gwaine mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “Two smartass pillocks in a pod.”

“Focus,” Merlin barks. “What do we have? Let's establish constants, first. Then, find out variables. Arthur?” 

“Location,” Arthur says. “All retrieved artifacts that are still being processed or in dispute are kept at the Bureau, secured in the basement."

“Have you ever been there?” Merlin asks.

Both Leon and Arthur shake their heads.

“No. All I ever did was turn the artifacts in,” Arthur says.

“All right. Access?” Merlin asks, remembering Gaius’s words eons ago about tightened security in the Bureau’s archives after someone had broken in.

Chewing on his lip, Arthur takes a moment before answering. “We'll have to pass two security points to get there. The basement itself, though... Think of it as an evidence room -- control is airtight. Uther was almost paranoid about making it so.”

“So, Uther treats magic like it’s something criminal,” Merlin says, feeling muscles in his jaw jump.

“I don’t think he’s had a positive experience with magic,” Leon says. “That’s why.”

“Has he ever been looking for one?” Merlin has no tolerance for excuses today -- or time to waste. “Later with that. So, we know the location and that it’s secured. What kind of security?” he asks.

“My father keeps the specifics top-secret. He worked hard on making it impenetrable. That much I know.”

“Your father never met _me_ ,” Merlin says with contempt.

Arthur cocks his brow, about to say something, probably not very nice, concerning Merlin’s lack of modesty, but Gwaine interrupts, “Is it really?"

"I never had the need to test his claim,” Arthur says.

“It’s all right," Merlin says. "It doesn’t matter.”

“What matters, then?” Arthur asks. 

“That we know to expect the worst. That we now have a team. I have faith in us.”

Their eyes meet.

Arthur relaxes a little, his knee touching Merlin's, and it stays there. “Good,” Arthur says, smiling with a twinkle in his eyes that Merlin reads as respect.

Merlin will take that praise coming from Arthur even over Her Royal Majesty herself (not that she’s offering, but perhaps someday), and he fights the urge to puff out his chest just from a single encouraging look.

“So, our task is to make a clean break into the basement and find the Triskelion piece without triggering the security system and getting ourselves into any unknown traps,” he sums up. “Sounds like a good exercise."

Gwaine snorts. "Right up our alley."

"Any ideas how to reach said basement without catching the whole Bureau’s attention? Do you know anyone who’d help us?” Merlin asks Arthur.

Arthur glances at Leon. "Percival."

Leon nods, and adds when Arthur reaches for his mobile, "He's already on location, standing by. I texted him earlier."

Arthur hums. "Right on."

Even Gwaine is impressed. “Inside help? Brilliant.”

“So, how will Percival take us through the security check unnoticed?” Merlin asks, weighing several options in his head.

“Diversion,” Leon suggests, picking up a bottle of water from the cup holder, and Gwaine beams.

“Good thinking.” He pats Leon’s arm. “These two plonkers will head to the basement while you and I distract the guards.”

"And how are you planning to do that?" Merlin asks, not expecting an adequate answer, since he knows his teammate too well.

Gwaine doesn't disappoint. "As the first part of my plan, Leon and I will deliver pizza and beer to the security guards.”

“Oh, your plan has phases?” Arthur asks, looking thoroughly amused.

“Absolutely. That's for the first security point. At the second, we’ll have a wanking contest."

Leon spits out his water. "We what?"

"We are going to wank,” Gwaine explains patiently, not batting a lash. “What's the problem, mate? You're a very attractive bloke, and I'm bloody gorgeous. One look at my beautiful cock, and they'll be jizzing all over themselves. Can you think of a better distraction? I cannot. Are you cut, by the way?"

"Gwaine, that's enough," Merlin says.

"What?" Gwaine shrugs. "It's for science."

Merlin knows -- all this spectacle is Gwaine's way of coping with fear of losing Elena, but he has no words of comfort to offer to his friend this time and lets Gwaine be Gwaine.

While Leon's choking on the appropriate response -- good luck to him on that -- Arthur asks Merlin quietly, "Gwaine's your friend with the dick blog, isn't he?"

Merlin nods with a snort.

Gwaine of course hears Arthur. "My blog is not about dicks. It's about celebrating nature's beauty and social justice."

"Are you saying all dicks are equal?" Arthur asks.

"Of course not... Well... It depends..." Gwaine seems to be stumped. "What do you mean?"

"Make this question the topic of your next post," Merlin suggests, sensing this conversation could derail his plan to spend this time in transit actually properly _planning_ their mission.

Gwaine becomes animated again, which means he has another brilliant idea. “Leon,” he says with wonder in his voice. “How do you feel about going in starkers?”

Merlin tunes out an excited (and thank goodness, distracted) Gwaine and sputtering Leon and turns to Arthur.

“Now, tell me more about the building and Percival.”

 

Despite Gwaine's eagerness to help, his grand idea to penetrate the citadel of evil by despoiling its security force (his own words) are outvoted. Gwaine pouts loudly for the rest of the drive.

“Here’s Percy,” Leon says and brakes by the large, tall-as-a-mountain bloke with short hair, standing alone half a block from the Bureau’s building.

Merlin’s hand disappears in Percy’s when they greet each other. Arthur had described him as a gentle giant who was all heart.

He believes it when Percy says, “Heard about you a lot,” with a smile too shy for a guy of his size. “Nice finally meeting you.”

Merlin glances at Arthur, who stands next to him, clearing his throat.

"If you're done," Arthur says gruffly. "Status?"

“It’s quiet. Like it always is at 2 in the morning,” Percy says. He hands Arthur a white plastic card. “Your access card. It has the clearance you need.” And to Merlin, a white sticker with the word “Visitor” on it.

“Should I glamour us before we go in?” Merlin asks. 

“Mate, all of us? That will drain you,” Gwaine says.

“I’m strong,” Merlin protests.

Arthur bites on the knuckle of his thumb in thought. “Merlin, listen…” he begins, not quite looking him in the eyes, “I propose that I go in alone.”

“Are you joking? Absolutely not,” Merlin replies right away. “And before you start saying more nonsense: yes, I do trust you and no, this is not something I’d let you shoulder alone. Ever.”

Arthur sighs. “You understand that I know this place inside out and the security system in this building is a joke to me. No matter what my father thinks.”

“Yes, I remember, you’ve been _trained_ ,” Merlin says, rocking on the balls of his feet. “And I still don’t care--”

“Arthur, things changed,” Percival says quietly. Everyone turns to him. “Your knowledge of the wiring system and the building layout won’t help you in the basement vaults.”

“Why? What else is there?” Arthur asks.

“I don't know who or what is guarding the artifacts nowadays, but I do know the security there is backed up by magic.”

“Magic? Of what kind?” Arthur asks, darting his eyes to Merlin.

“I’m not sure,” Percy says. “This is a recent development, and I didn't have much time to dig around. All I know from my sources is that it can detect magical intrusion.”

Gwaine whistles. “Here’s the twist.”   

Merlin rubs his forehead. Their community is small, and there aren’t a lot of sorcerers who can compete with his skill of taming technology with magic. Modesty or not, there just isn't anyone else who can do what Merlin does. The answer as to who or what is helping the Bureau is probably simple.

But for now...

“So, I’ll have to mask my magic so it doesn’t trigger the alarms,” he muses, and then smiles. “Well, we’re in luck.”

 

~LDN~

 

They manage to compromise.

Gwaine, ever the wanker, has the gall to argue with Merlin, but Merlin wins -- someone has to stay by the car and ensure their swift departure with the Triskelion piece when the mission is complete. And it looks like Arthur has a lot better rapport with his team, as it only takes one glance at Leon and Leon goes back to the car without a debate.

Right before they go in, Merlin puts the watch device on. He’s never been more glad about his inventive nature.

With his magic concealed by the device, his senses dial down again, becoming muted -- the feeling similar to diving into deep waters. Closing his eyes, Merlin takes a deep, calming breath, steadying his thoughts, grounding himself. When he opens his eyes, Arthur’s watching him, frowning. Merlin shrugs with a slight smile that means, _It’s all fine_. Arthur’s shoulders slide down a bit and he nods.

They all tap their ear comms, checking in.

"The search for the Triskelion itself may take a while," Merlin says, already immersed into his “mission mode”. "But to give ourselves a time mark, we must be out of there before the security shift changes -- by oh-six-hundred."

"Plenty of time for a good kip," Gwaine suggests, not sounding happy through the comm line.

"Leon, feel free to smack him over the head if he falls asleep," Merlin allows.

"We could still wank--"

Merlin taps the comm off before he hears the rest of the Gwaine's suggestion. Arthur and Percy shake their heads, laughing, as the three of them walk towards the building. They slip into it from the back, and Arthur confidently leads them through some dark, quiet rooms that Merlin recognises as kitchens and then a large cafeteria with chairs flipped over on the top of the tables.

This wasn't a part of the plan. None of it is.

“Where are we going?” Merlin asks, hating moving blind. He’s too used to having blueprints and magic as a joint picture in his head, supplying him with the best possible path.

Arthur squeezes his shoulder. “It's a bit of a detour to skip the main security point, but we still have one more in order to walk to the vaults. Trust us, Merlin.”

Merlin wants to say he does. No, he does, but it’s difficult, being on what he considers enemy territory and without his usual team. This is the first time he’s worked without Gwaine and Elena actively helping him in so long, he feels like he’s missing a limb.

The security desk is occupied by a young girl in the Bureau’s black guard uniform, who blushes furiously as soon as she lays eyes on Percival.

“Officers,” she says in a shaky voice, smoothing her thin blonde hair while actually staring only at Percy. “Hello.”

Arthur frowns. “Hello...” He darts his eyes to the metal name tag on her chest. “Ms Ruadan.”

“Sefa,” the guard whispers. “My name is Sefa.”

Percy makes a soft noise behind them. “Sefa, you’re wasting Officer Pendragon’s time. He’s on an important mission.”

“I’m sorry.” Sefa blushes even more. “I haven’t seen you lately, Officer Pendragon. I hope you’re in good health.” Her eyes skate over Arthur to Merlin’s visitor tag and rise up back to Percy.

So, not everyone’s aware of the latest development, Merlin muses. Or was there no announcement about Arthur's parting ways with the Bureau? Does Uther Pendragon hope for the return of his prodigal son? Maybe.

"I'm good, thank you... Sefa," Arthur says, but Sefa is not paying him any mind, keeping her eyes on Percy like he's the moon and the sun. Now Percy is blushing, and Arthur is catching on.

"Percy, you may stay, check with Sefa about the... uh... company's logs?"

Percy frowns, then his face clears. "Oh, right, the logs," he says, and as soon as Sefa’s confused gaze falls on Merlin again, his Everest-like form successfully blocks him from her view.

Merlin hears her faint protest.

“Officers? You have to sign--”

“No need. I’m staying with you, aren’t I? They'll be back shortly,” Percy says softly, and adds something else that makes Sefa giggle.

Merlin and Arthur seize the moment and take right off.

"If there's going to be any checking out, it definitely won't be the logs," Merlin predicts quietly to Arthur.

Arthur snorts and gestures to follow him.

 

~LDN~

 

They stop at the door with the sign “Level 0” and a security reader on it.

Arthur pulls the access card given to him by Percy.

"Judging by Sefa's reaction, no one knows that you quit the Bureau," Merlin comments quietly. "Do you still have access?"

"According to Percy," Arthur says, calm expression not changing, and he waves his card. "Looks like my father's still nursing hope I'll change my mind."

He swipes the card while looking at Merlin. They’re both tensing, waiting for the torturous moment of truth, until there’s a sharp click and the door unlocks.

“Jesus fuck,” Arthur mutters. “I’m not a newbie at this, yet I feel like we’re robbing the Royal treasury or something.”

“No shit,” Merlin agrees. Too much is at stake. “I’m sorry, Arthur.”

Arthur gives him an uneasy smile. “Why?”

“I never meant it to be like this…” He gestures around, at the door. “You… doing this…”

“Merlin,” Arthur says firmly. “I’m here because I made that choice.”

All Merlin can offer in return right now is, “Thank you.”

Taking a sharp breath, he slides his hand to find Arthur's and they both push the door.

 

[TO BE CONTINUED]


End file.
